


Beauty

by KY Lowell (TachyonStar)



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2020-09-06 09:27:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20289199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TachyonStar/pseuds/KY%20Lowell
Summary: V's anything but the shallow type when it comes to those he loves. (V x f!reader)





	Beauty

**Author's Note:**

> Yep, it's more request fic!
> 
> This one took me a little while because it's kind of a heavy subject - reader character going through painful and disfiguring medical treatment and feeling Most Repulsive as a result - and that's...well, let's just say I know the feeling. Also wanted to do it justice, but mostly, that's a familiar feel.
> 
> I think I did pretty okay, tbh.
> 
> (As for why I chose "The Tyger" for V to recite, that's my favorite Blake poem and it's awesome and I will FITE YOU if you don't agree. Okay, not really, but it is a really nice poem.)
> 
> Still open for requests: https://but-two-days-old.tumblr.com/post/186461623433/

It is extremely rare for V to see you be anything but relentlessly cheerful, so when he returns from a job one day to find you crying, he is naturally most alarmed.  
  
"____," he calls your name gently, trying to get your attention, and the alarm only grows when you fail to respond, his pulse quickening unpleasantly as he moves to your side, panic beginning to set in when he rests his hand on your shoulder and you flinch and shrug it away. This is so _unlike_ you, so terrifying on a deep and primal level, and he doesn't know what to _do_, so he does the first thing that comes to mind - he drops heavily to the couch beside you, his usual grace turned clumsy and fumbling from how scared he is, and puts his arms around you, not letting you go though your hands come up to try and forcefully push him away.  
  
"It's all right...it's all right, I'm here," he finds himself whispering, unable to raise his voice any louder for fear it may desert him completely, and holds you tighter. "____, please, tell me what's wrong. What's the matter? Has something happened?"  
  
The sheer helpless concern in his voice is nearly enough to break you, and when his hands slide gingerly up your back to pull you _just_ a little closer, the warmth of them through the bandages shielding your battered flesh tears away that last little shred of control.  
  
"I," you start, a hiccuping gasp, and then you give in, pushing yourself into his comforting hold and breaking down into outright sobs, your fingers digging into the worn leather of his shirt as you desperately hold to him, your strong rock in the midst of this emotional storm that leaves you shaking uncontrollably. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I just--" and you find you can't go on, the rush of emotion rendering you so helpless that it's all you can even do to _breathe_, but he doesn't try to push you; he simply strokes with such careful and gentle motions over those godsbedamned bandages in a way he knows will soothe you but not cause pain to the healing wounds beneath, and even as distraught as you are, you're struck by just how _thoughtful_ he is. He always has been, so sweet, so caring - it's something you often struggle to reconcile with the ruthless man you've seen in battle, the one who taunts and lures demons into unrepentant death, but at the moment, you're just glad for it. Glad for him.  
  
Your tears soon spend themselves, but you don't pull away, simply resting against his chest, hearing his heart beat strongly and reassuringly beneath your ear. "I'm sorry," you say again, and this time you're able to continue, no matter how difficult the words. "I just - I feel...so awful, right now. So ugly, so--" distraught anger is creeping in, and you cling tighter to his shirt, but the gentle brush of his lips across your temple is enough to help you calm, just long enough to spit out the last word as if it's a bitter poison on your tongue. "_Hideous_\--"  
  
He kisses your ear, gently, lays his hands slowly and deliberately over the bandages, as if to show you he will _not_ flinch or draw away from you even despite those feelings. "You are anything but hideous," he tells you, a breath of soft reassurance, and when you shift to curl into him just a little, he's more than happy to accommodate the slight movement. "You are beautiful, ____ - you are _exquisite_. Even if you are unable to see it right now." He gently raises a hand, threads it into your hair and cradles your head in a most protective way, and after a moment's pause, he begins to speak again - to recite, low and soft into your ear.  
  
"_Tyger, tyger, burning bright,  
__In the forests of the night;  
__What immortal hand or eye,  
__Could frame thy fearful symmetry?_"  
  
You are silent, unsure what to make of the words, and when he draws back just enough to look at your face, you let him and uncertainly raise your eyes to his; he is smiling, an expression so warm and inviting, and his fingers trace ever so gently at the edge of a bandage. "You are as the tyger, ____," he murmurs, and he seems ever so pleased to see your cheeks redden just the smallest bit. "Absolutely magnificent - burning with a fire that none other can match, a glory that humanity itself can only _dream_ of. That is from where your beauty comes - and that is why," he traces the coarse cloth again, lets his hand begin to trail downward, and you find yourself surprised when his fingers skim the curve of your hip and you can't help but _arch_ just the slightest bit, your legs parting as a hungry warmth sparks to life in the very core of you. "No matter how this earthly shell of yours may appear, you will be forever beautiful. Both inside...and out."  
  
Your breath catches a little, and you push your body up as his hand slips between your thighs, presses gentle and teasing against you as if asking permission to go any further. "V," you say, and it's hardly more than a little gasp, "I - you're _sure_ about this? You won't be disgusted by...?"  
  
"I won't," he reassures you, brings his other hand down as well, working at the button to your pants and smiling again when you cant your hips back just a little to give him better access. "I will love you, and think you perfect, no matter __what you look like. Any form of you is simply entrancing."  
  
A fierce blush comes to your cheeks, but faced with the conviction in his eyes, you can't argue, simply breathing his name once more and letting him strip first you, then himself, of all your pesky, concealing clothing.  
  
And when he's buried within you, his head bent to your breast and your wet, intoxicating heat enveloping him as he makes sweetest love to you, you feel beautiful again.


End file.
